


Tears and Thursdays

by SlaughterHaus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Past Abuse, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:56:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaughterHaus/pseuds/SlaughterHaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a Thursday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears and Thursdays

Dean was done.

His body was beyond broken and scarred, years of battle picking at his skin and hitting his bones. 

He never chose this life, he’d been beaten into it by a father determined to avenge a burned body that sold it’s soul to the King of Hell. Dean had made his peace long ago with the fact that nothing would bring his mother back.

Dean wished his father had accepted fate all those years ago, had taken Dean and Sam somewhere safe and raised them like normal kids, given Sam the education and childhood he’d ever dreamed of.

Instead he got the belt when he failed to master a gun on his first try, a black eye when he’d cried because nightmares of hellhounds chased his dreams, a fist in his gut when he tried to protect Sam from their father.

Dean stared at the outside hot tub of his rented cabin and tried not to think of when Cas had disappeared beneath waves as the Leviathan crawled out his pores. 

Slowly, with practised moves, he pulled off his shirt and then his t-shirt, tears of memories biting at the corners of his eyes as he tried not to look at his skin, every inch covered from fights he never wanted to participate in. 

His jeans were removed next. He kept his boxers on though.

He stepped into the too hot tub and let the ache in his muscles be soothed momentarily by the heat.

He felt detached, floating and yet hyperaware as he sliced into his arms, thick muscle, sinew and arteries tearing easily as his old hunting knife dipped beneath his skin. 

With an almost morbid half smile he thought how funny it was that the thing he’d used to kill so many demons, ripped open too many vessels, would be the thing that would be his undoing.

With a trembling hand Dean reached down and cut into the arteries that he knew were hidden between his groin and thighs.

The pain burned and his eyes swam with tears.

He gave up long ago, and finally he was going to be free, free of all the hurt and pain, no more demons and no more hiding. 

The metal clattered dully to the bottom of the tub.

The pressure that had been throbbing in Dean’s blood for years was finally escaping, leaking out and tainting the water.

In his last moments he sent a prayer out to Castiel.

It was too late to be saved. He didn’t want to be saved. He just didn’t want to be found by a cleaning woman.

It was a Thursday.


End file.
